Maine thing: an adventure

You must imagine a sunny October day; the time? early afternoon. The place? A sunbathed, bustling Maine cafe, humming with jumbled accents and jovial conversation, and of course, the ever tempting and thick scent of fresh ground coffee beans.

I was seated across from my sister who was absorbed in her laptop and smoothie, as was I; open books were sprawled out in front of me on the small green Adirondack-style table and I was poring over my keyboard, trying to tune out of the noise.

These two books were my dear companions on this particular trip: Orca: The Whale called Killer and The Whale Watcher.

I had high hopes for this trip; the weather had been good and the time of year was perfect.

I wanted to see whales. Badly.

I'd been (and continue to be) studying whales for years, and I'd had limited experiences of witnessing these large, majestic creatures in their own environment. In fact, I recall only one time, as a small child, watching a pod of wild dolphins porpoising from shore.

Every time we vacation to a coastal area I can't help but hope to see whales and dolphins; because for me, the ocean and all it's beauty is no longer just a craving deep in my landlocked soul- but a love; it's simply living, if that makes any sense. Since we depend so heavily on the ocean to sustain us and this lovely planet we call home.

In any event, I had turned, in Whale Watcher, to the section about Orcas, or, Killer Whales as they're commonly called, and I was digging up all that I could on the migration patterns of herring and salmon.

...Yes. You heard me right.

See, Orcas don't have set migration patterns as other whales do, they simply follow the food.

And herring is Orca food.

And I was pleased with what I discovered: the gulf of Maine was probably, at that time, filled with herring because of their migration route.

I was thrilled.

We were camping on the bay so I would be able to keep my eyes peeled somewhat for their elusive, sleek, black dorsal fins and tall, puffy blows at the surface.

But the days flew by....and none appeared.

I wasn't totally crushed by this; because on the east coast spotting Orcas is more of a rarity than it is on the west coast.

In the mean time, I drank in the shoreline, the scent the sounds and all the awesomeness's of the ocean:

We toured around the coast, visiting Bar Harbor and other salty, weathered bay locations.

My sweet Dad and I went ocean kayaking (it was my first time! :D) and explored the bay, paddling out to tiny islands and into inlets; rocking and riding the big, gentle swells which rolled about at the surface like playful St. Bernards.

Finally, on our last night, I awoke suddenly near probably two or so in the morning, by my Father who excitedly called me over to the screen window in the galley of our RV which was now flung open, and through which an eerie but mesmerizingly beautiful cry was resounding.

Orcas.

Vocalizing.

In the bay.

My mind was blown!

It was black as pitch outside so we couldn't see anything beyond our dwindling campfire, but we could hear their song skipping over the water's skin and echoing through the bay; their classic: Eeeeeiiiiiieeeeeeeiiieeee...

Yeah. you kind of have to hear it...have a listen:

Now, that's not my video of course, but that's just what it sounded like!

It was utterly amazing. A brilliant event that made our vacation.

As I continue to fight against captive whale and dolphin industry, helping educate the world that these large, magnificent beings don't belong in tiny, cement pools doing tricks for our amusement, I often put myself in remembrance of how important it is to show people how stunning these animals are in their own environment, swimming hundreds of miles a day, breaching, porpoising, tail slapping and echolocating to one another from miles away; how they care for one another and have profound family bonds.

Because, in the words of former dolphin trainer turned activist, Ric O'Barry: "You need to see [whales and] dolphins in the wild to understand why captivity just doesn't work."

...And how true it is.

Being a Blue Planet junkie, (and just knowing what I know now about captivity), I could never go to a marine park for a day of fun and entertainment at the expense of anything living, breathing, beautiful creature.

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